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EVANGELINE, 



TALE OF ACADIE 



HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 



SIXTH EDITION. 



BOSTON: 
WILLIAM D, TICKNOR & COMPANY 

1848. 






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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1847, by 

H. W. Longfellow, 

in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of tlie District of Massachusetts. 



GIFT 
•BBTRAM SMITH 



■■"■■'f.^9^3 



CAMBRIDGE: 

STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 

METCALF AND COMPANY 
PRINTERS TO THE UNIVERSITY. 



PART THE FIRST 



This is the forest primeval. The murmuring 

pines and the hemlocks, 
Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indis- 

tiAct in the twilight, 
Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and 

prophetic. 
Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on 

their bosoms. 
Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 

neighbouring ocean 



EVANGELINE. 



Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 
wail of the forest. 



This is the forest primeval ; but where are the 

hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like the roe, when he hears in the wood- 
land the voice of the huntsman ? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home of 

Acadian farmers, — 
Men whose lives glided on like rivers that water 

the woodlands. 
Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an 

image of heaven ? 
Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers 

forever departed ! 
Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 

blasts of October 
Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle 

them far o'er the ocean. 



EVANGELINE. 



IS aught but tradition remains of the beautiful vil- 
lage of Grand-Pre. 



Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 

endures, and is patient, 
Ye who beheve in the beauty and strength of 

woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 

pines of the forest ; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadie, home of tlie 

happy. 



I. 



In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin 

of Minas, 
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of Grand- 

Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows 

stretched to the eastward, 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to flocks 

without number. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 

with labor incessant, 
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated 

seasons the flood-gates 



10 EVANGELINE. 

Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will 

o'er the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and 

orchards and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain ; and 

away to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft on 

the mountains 
Sea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the 

mighty Atlantic 
Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from their 

station descended. 
There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the 

Acadian village. 
Strongly built were the houses, with frames of 

oak and of chestnut, 
Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the 

reign of the Henries. 
Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-windows ; 

and gabies projecting 



EVANGELINE. 11 

Over the basement below protected and shaded 

the door-way. 
There in the tranquil evenings of summer, when 

brightly the sunset 
Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 

on the chimneys. 
Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps and 

in kirtles 
Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spin- 
ning the golden 
Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles 

within doors 
Mingled their sound with the whir of the wheels 

and the songs of the maidens. 
Solemnly down the street came the parish priest, 

and the children 
Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended 

to bless them. 
Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 

matrons and maidens, 



12 EVANGELINE. 

Hailing his slow approach with words of affec- 
tionate welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, and 
serenely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
from the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs 
of the village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in- 
cense ascending. 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace 
and contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Acadian 
farmers, — 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike 
were they free from 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, the 
vice of republics. 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars 
to their windows ; 



EVANGELINE. 13 

But their dwellings were open as day and the 

hearts of the owners ; 
There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived 

in ahundance. 



Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer 
the Basin of Minas, 

Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer of 
Grand-Pre, 

Dwelt on his goodly acres ; and with him, direct- 
ing his household. 

Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the pride 
of the village. 

Stalworth and stately in form was the man of sev- 
enty winters ; 

Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 
with snow-flakes ; 

White as the snow were his locks, and his cheeks 
as brown as the oak-leaves. 



14 EVANGELINE. 

Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seventeen 

summers. 
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows on 

the thorn by the way-side, 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath the 

brown shade of her tresses ! 
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 

feed in the meadows. 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reapers 

at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth 

was the maiden. 
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while tlie 

bell from its turret 
Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the priest 

with his hyssop 
Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters blessings 

upon them, 
Down the long street she passed, with her chap- 
let of beads and her missal, 



EVANGELINE. 15 

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of blue, 

and the ear-rmgs, 
Brought in the olden time from France, and 

since, as an heirloom, 
Handed down from mother to child, through long 

generations. 
But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal 

beauty — • 
Shone on her face and encircled her form, when, 

after confession, 
Homeward serenely she walked with God's bene- 
diction upon her. 
When she had passed, it seemed like the ceasing 

of exquisite music. 
Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house of 

the farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the sea ; 

and a shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine 

wreathing around it. 



16 EVANGELINE. 

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats be- 
neath ; and a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared 

in the meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung by 

a penthouse, 
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by 

the road-side, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed 

image of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the 

well with its moss-grown 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough 

for the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north, 

were the bams and the farm-yard. 
There stood the broad-wheeled wains and the 

antique ploughs and the harrows ; 
There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, 

in his feathered seraglio. 



EVANGELINE. 17 

Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, 

with the selfsame 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the peni- 
tent Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a 

village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch ; 

and a staircase, 
Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odorous 

corn-loft. 
There too the dove-cot stood, with its meek and 

innocent inmates 
Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the 

variant breezes 
Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang 

of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the 
farmer of Grand-Pre 
2 



18 EVANGELINE. 

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- 
erned his household. 

Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
opened his missal, 

Fixed his eyes upon her, as the saint of his deep- 
est devotion ; 

Happy was he who might touch her hand or the 
hem of her garment ! 

Many a suitor came to her door, by the darkness 
befriended. 

And as he knocked and waited to hear the sound 
of her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or the 
knocker of iron ; 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of the 
village. 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dafflfc 
as he whispered 

Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of the 
music. 



EVANGELINE. 19 

But, among all who came, young Gabriel only 
was welcome ; 

Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil the black- 
smith. 

Who was a mighty man in the village, and hon- 
ored of all men ; 

For since the birth of time, throughout all ages 
and nations. 

Has the craft of the smith been held in repute by 
the people. 

Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children 
from earliest childhood 

Grew up together as brother and sister ; and 
Father Felician, 

Priest and pedagogue both in the village, had 
taught them their letters 

Out of the selfsame book, with the hymns of the 
church and the plain-song. 

But when the hymn was sung, and the daily 
lesson completed. 



20 EVANGELINE. 

Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil 
the blacksmith. 

There at the door they stood, with wondering 
eyes to behold him 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse as 
a plaything, 

Nailing the shoe in its place ; while near him the 
tire of the cart-wheel 

Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle 
of cinders. 

Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the gatli- 
ering darkness 

Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 
every cranny and crevice, 

Warm by the forge within they watched the la- 
boring bellows. 

And as its panting ceased, and the sparks ex- 
pired in the ashes. 

Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns going 
into the chapel. 



EVANGELINE. 21 

Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop 

of the eagle, 
Down the hill-side bounding, they glided away 

o'er the meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous 

nests on the rafters. 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 

which the swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the 

sight of its fledglings ; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest 

of the swallow ! 
Thus passed a few swift years, and they no 

longer were children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face, like the 

face of the morning. 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 

thought into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and hopes 

of a woman. 



22 EVANGELINE. 

" Sunshine of Saint Eulalie " was she called ; 
for that was the sunshine 

Which, as the farmers believed, would load their 
orchards with apples ; 

She, too, would bring to her husband's house 
delight and abundance. 

Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of chil- 
dren. 



23 



II. 



Now had the season returned, when the nights 

grow colder and longer, 
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion 

enters. 
Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air, 

from the ice-bound. 
Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropical 

islands. 
Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the 

winds of September 
Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of old 

with the angel. 



24 EVANGELINE. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and inclem- 
ent. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had hoard- 
ed their honey 

Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunters 
asserted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the fur 
of the foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then followed 
that beautiful season, 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Sum- 
mer of All- Saints ! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
light ; and the landscape 

Lay as if new-created in all the freshness of 
childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the rest- 
less heart of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were 
in harmony blended. 



EVANGELINE. 25 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of cocks 

in the farm-yards. 
Whir of wings in the drowsy air, and the cooing 

of pigeons, 
All were subdued and low as the murmurs of 

love, and the great sun 
Looked with the eye of love through the golden 

vapors around him ; 
While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet 

and yellow. 
Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glittering^ 

tree of the forest 
Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 

with mantles and jewels. 



Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec- 
tion and stillness. 
Day with its burden and heat had departed, and 
twilight descending 



26 EVANGELINE. 

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and 

the herds to the homestead. 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting their 

necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 

freshness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful 

heifer. 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon 

that waved from her collar, 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human 

affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 

flocks from the sea-side, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them 

followed the watch-dog, 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the 

pride of his instinct. 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and 

superbly 



Jlf^ 



EVANGELINE. 27 

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the 

stragglers ; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept ; 

their protector, 
When from the forest at night, through the starry 

silence, the wolves howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains 

from the marshes. 
Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its 

odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 

manes and tlieir fetlocks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 

ponderous saddles. 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with 

tassels of crimson. 
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy 

with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 

their udders 



28 EVANGELINE. 

Unto the milkmaid's hand ; whilst loud and in 

regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were 

heard in the farm-yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank mto 

stillness ; 
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves 

of the barn-doors. 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season 

was silent. 



In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fireplace, 

idly the farmer 
Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the 

flames and the smoke-wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 

Behind him, 



EVANGELINE. 29 

Nodding and mocking along the wall, with ges- 
tures fantastic, 

Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished away 
into darkness. 

Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of 
his arm-chair 

Laughed in the flickering light, and the pewter 
plates on the dresser 

Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of 
' armies the sunshine. 

Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols 
of Christmas, 

Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 
before him 

Sang in their Norman orchards and bright Bur- 
gundian vineyards. 

Close at, her father's side was the gentle Evan- 
geline seated. 

Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the 
corner behind her. 



30 EVANGELINE. 

Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its 

diligent shuttle, 
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, like 

the drone of a bagpipe, 
Followed the old man's song, and united the 

fragments together. 
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at 

intervals ceases, 
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of the 

priest at the altar. 
So, in each pause of the song, with measured 

motion the clock clicked. 



Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 

and, suddenly lifted. 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 

back on its hinges. 
Benedict knew by the hob-nailed shoes it was 

Basil the blacksmith, 



EVANGELINE. 31 

And by her beating heart Evangeline knew who 

was with him. 
" Welcome ! " the farmer exclaimed, as their 

footsteps paused on the threshold, 
" Welcome, Basil, my friend ! Come, take thy 

place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always 

empty without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 

box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when through 

the curling 
Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 

jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through the 

mist of the marshes." 
Then, ^vith a smile of content, thus answered 

Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by the 

fireside : — 



32 EVANGELINE. 

" Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 
and thy ballad ! 

Ever in cheerfullest mood art thou, when others 
are filled with 

Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only rum 
before them. 

Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst 
picked up a horseshoe." 

Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evan- 
geline brought him. 

And with a coal from the embers had lighted, he 
slowly continued : — 

" Four days now are passed since the English 
ships at their anchors 

Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their can- 
non pointed against us. 

What their design may be is unknown ; but all 
are commanded 

On the morrow to meet in the church, where his 
Majesty's mandate 



EVANGELINE. 33 

Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas ! 

in the mean time 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 

people." 
Then made answer the farmer : — " Perhaps 

some friendher purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 

harvests in England 
By the untimely rains or untimelier heat have 

been blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed 

their cattle and children." 
■' Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said, 

warmly, the blacksmith. 
Shaking his head, as in doubt ; then, heaving a 

sigh, he continued : — 
" Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, 

nor Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk on 

its outskirts, 
3 



34 EVANGELINE. 

Waiting with anxious hearts the dubious fate of 

to-morrow. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warhke 

weapons of all kinds ; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and the 

scythe of the mower." 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the 

jovial farmer : — 
" Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our 

flocks and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by 

the ocean, 
Than were our fathers in forts, besieged by the 

enemy's cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 

shadow of sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth; for this is the 

night of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry 

lads of the village 



EVANGLLINE. 35 

Strongly have built them and well ; and, breaking 

the glebe round about them, 
Filled the barn with hay, and the house with food 

for a twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his papers 

and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the joy 

of our children ? " 
As apart by the window she stood, with her hand 

m her lover's, 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 

father had spoken, 
And as they died on liis lips the worthy notary 

entered. 



37 



III. 

Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf 

of the ocean, 
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of 

the notary public ; 
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of the 

maize, hung 
Over his shoulders ; his forehead was high ; and 

glasses with horn bows 
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 

supernal. 
Father of twenty children was he, and more than 

a hundred 



EVANGELINE. 



Children's children rode on his knee, and heard 

his great watch tick. 
Four long years in the times of the war had he 

languished a captive, 
Suffering much in an old French fort as the friend 

of the English. 
Now, though warier grown, without all guile or 

suspicion, 
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and simple, 

and childlike. 
He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 

children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in the 

forest. 
And of the goblin that came in the night to water 

the horses. 
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child 

who unchristened 
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the 

chambers of children ; 



EVANGELINE. 39 

And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in 

the stable, 
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut 

up in a nutshell, 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved 

clover and horseshoes. 
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of the 

village. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside Basil 

the blacksmith, 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly 

extending his right hand, 
" Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, " thou hast 

heard the talk in the village, 
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of these 

ships and their errand." 
Then with modest demeanour made answer the 

notary public, — 
'' Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 

never the wiser ; 



40 EVANGELINE. 

And what their errand may be I know not better 

than others. 
Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 

intention 
Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and why 

then molest us ? " 
" God's name ! " shouted the hasty and some- 
what irascible blacksmith ; 
" Must we in all things look for the how, and 

the why, and the wherefore ? 
Daily injustice is done, and might is the right of 

the strongest ! " 
But, without heeding his warmth, continued the 

notary public, — 
" Man is unjust, but God is just ; and finally 

justice 
Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that 

often consoled me. 
When as a captive I lay in the old French fort 

at Port Royal." 



EVANGELINE. 41 

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he 
loved to repeat it 

Whenever neighbours complained that any injus- 
tice was done them. 

*' Once in an ancient city, whose name I no 
longer remember, 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Jus- 
tice 

Stood in the public square, upholding the scales 
in its left hand, 

And in its right a sword, as an emblem that jus- 
tice presided 

Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 
homes of the people. 

Even the birds had built their nests in the scales 
of the balance. 

Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 
sunshine above them. 

But in the course of time the laws of the land 
were corrupted ; 



42 EVANGELINE. 

Might took the place of right, and the weak were 

oppressed, and the mighty- 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in 

a nobleman's palace 
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long 

a suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid m the 

household. 
She, after form of trial condemned to die on the 

scaffold, 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 

of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 

ascended, 
Lo ! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts 

of the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath 

from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering 

scales of the balance, 



EVANGELINE. 43 

And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of 

a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls 

was inwoven." 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story was 

ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 

findeth no language ; 
And all his thoughts congealed into lines on his 

face, as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window-panes 

in the winter. 



Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp on 

the table, 
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard with 

home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strengdi in 

the village of Grand-Pre ; 



44 EVANGELINE. 

While from his pocket the notary drew his 

papers and ink-horn, 
Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age 

of the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of sheep 

and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and well 

were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a sun 

on the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the farmer threw 

on the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces of 

silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride and 

the bridegroom, 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to their 

welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly 

bowed and departed. 



EVANGELINE. 45 

While in silence the others sat and mused by the 
fireside, 

Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out 
of its corner. 

Soon was the game begun. In friendly conten- 
tion the old men 

Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful ma- 
noeuvre, 

Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 
was made in the king-row. 

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a win- 
dow's embrasure. 

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, behold- 
ing the moon rise 

Over the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
meadows. 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
heaven. 

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots 
of the angels. 



46 



EVANGELINE. 



Thus passed the evening away. Anon the 

bell from the belfiy 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, 

and straightway- 
Rose the guests and departed ; and silence 

reigned in the household. 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on 

the door-step 
Lingered long in Evangehne's heart, and filled it 

with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embers that 

glowed on the hearth-stone, 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of 

the farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evange- 
line followed. 
Up the staircase moved a luminous space in the 

darkness, 
Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face of 

the maiden. 



EVANGELINE. 47 

Silent she passed through the hall, and entered 
the door of her chamber. 

Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 
white, and its clothes-press 

Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves were 
carefully folded 

Linen and woollen stufis, by the hand of Evan- 
geline woven. 

This was the precious dower she would bring to 
her husband in marriage, 

Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of her 
skill as a housewife. 

Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mel- 
low and radiant moonlight 

Streamed through the windows, and lighted the 
room, till the heart of the maiden 

Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremulous 
tides of the ocean. 

Ah ! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as 
she stood with 



48 EVANGELINE. 

Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor of 
her chamber ! 

Little she dreamed that below, among the trees 
of the orchard, 

Waited her lover and watched for the gleam of 
her lamp and her shadow. 

Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a 
feeling of sadness 

Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of 
clouds in the moonlight 

Flitted across the floor and darkened the room 
for a moment. 

And as she gazed from the window she saw se- 
renely the moon pass 

Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star 
follow her footsteps, 

As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wan- 
dered with Hagar ! 



49 



IV. 

Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the 
village of Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the 
Basin of Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and clam- 
orous labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden 
gates of the morning. 

Now from the country around, from the farms 
and the neighbouring hamlets, 
4 



50 



EVANGELINE. 



Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Acadian 
peasants. 

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh from 
the young folk 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the 
numerous meadows, 

Where no path could be seen but the track of 
wheels in the greensward, 

Group after group appeared, and jomed, or 
passed on the highway. 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of labor 
were silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people ; and 
noisy groups at the house-doors 

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gos- 
sipped together. 

Every house was an inn, where all were wel- 
comed and feasted ; 

For with this simple people, who lived like broth- 
ers together, 



EVANGELINE. 51 

All things were held in common, and what one 

had was another's. 
Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed 

more abundant : 
For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 

father ; 
Bright was her face with smiles, and words of 

welcome and gladness 
Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the cup 

as she gave it. 



Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 

orchard. 
Bending with golden fruit, was spread the feast 

of betrothal. 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest 

and the notary seated ; 
There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 

blacksmith. 



52 EVANGELINE. 

Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider-press 

and the beehives, 
Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest 

of hearts and of waistcoats. 
Shadow and light from the leaves alternately 

played on his snow-white 
Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly face 

of the fiddler 
Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are 

blown from the embers. 
Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound of 

his fiddle, 
Tous Us Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon 

de Dunkerque, 
And anon with his wooden shoes beat tune to the 

music. 
Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the dizzy- 
ing dances 
Under the orchard-trees and down the path to the 

meadows ; 



EVANGELINE. 53 

Old folk and young together, and children min- 
gled among them. 

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Bene- 
dict's daughter ! 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of the 
blacksmith ! 



So passed the morning away. And lo ! with 
a summons sonorous 

Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 
meadows a drum beat. 

Thronged ere long was the church with men. 
Without, in the churchyard. 

Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 
and hung on the head-stones 

Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens fresh 
from the forest. 

Then came the guard from the ships, and march- 
ing proudly among them 



^^fe 



5| EVANGELINE. 

Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dis- 
sonant clangor 

Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from 
ceiling and casement, — 

Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponder- 
ous portal 

Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the will 
of the soldiers. 

Then uprose their commander, and spake from 
the steps of the altar, 

Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the 
royal commission. 

*' You are convened this day," he said, " by his 
Majesty's orders. 

Clement and kind has he been ; but how you 
have answered his kindness. 

Let your own hearts reply ! To my natural 
make and my temper 

Painful the task is I do, which to you I know 
must be grievous. 



EVANGELINE. 55 

Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will 

of our monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 

cattle of all kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you your- 
selves from this province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you 

may dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peaceable 

people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his 

Majesty's pleasure ! " 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice 

of summer. 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling of 

the hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and 

shatters his windows. 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 

thatch from the house-roofs, 



56 EVANGELINE. 

Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 

inclosures ; 
So on the hearts of the people descended the 

words of the speaker. 
Silent a moment they stood in speechless wonder, 

and then rose 
Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 

anger, 
And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed 

to the door-way. 
Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and 

fierce imprecations 
Rang through the house of prayer ; and high o'er 

the heads of the others 
Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil 

the blacksmith, 
As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the 

billows. 
Flushed was his face and distorted with passion ; 

and wildly he shouted, — 



EVANGELINE. 57 

*' Down with the tyrants of England ! we never 

have sworn them allegiance ! 
Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on our 

homes and our harvests ! " 
More he fain would have said, but the merciless 

hand of a soldier 
Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged him 

down to the pavement. 



In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry- 
contention, 

Lo ! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 
Felician 

Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the 
steps of the altar. 

Raising his reverend hand, with a gesture he awed 
into silence 

All that clamorous throng ; and thus he spake to 
his people ; 



58 EVANGELINE. 

Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents 

measured and mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, distinctly 

the clock strikes. 
" What is this that ye do, my children ? what 

madness has seized you ? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among you, 

and taught you. 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one 

another ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 

prayers and privations ? 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love 

and forgiveness ? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 

would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 

with hatred ? 
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross is 

gazing upon you ! 



EVANGELINE. 59 

See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness and 

holy compassion ! 
Hark ! how those lips still repeat the prayer, 

' O Father, forgive them ! ' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 

wicked assail us. 
Let us repeat it now, and say, ' O Father, forgive 

them ! ' " 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 

hearts of his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded that 

passionate outbreak ; 
And they repeated his prayer, and said, " O Fa- 
ther, forgive them ! " 



Then came the evening service. The tapers 
gleamed from the altar. 
Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, 
and the people responded. 



60 EVANGELINE. 

Not with their lips alone, but their hearts ; and 
the Ave Maria 

Sang they, and fell on their knees, and tlieir 
souls, with devotion translated. 

Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascend- 
ing to heaven. 



Meanwhile had spread in the village the tidings 
of ill, and on all sides 

Wandered, wailing, from house to house the 
women and children. 

Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, with 
her right hand 

Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the 
sun, that, descending. 

Lighted the village street with mysterious splen- 
dor, and roofed each 

Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and em- 
blazoned its windows. 



EVANGELINE. 61 

Long within had been spread the snow-white 
cloth on the table ; 

There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey 
fragrant with wild flowers ; 

There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 
fresh brought from the dairy ; 

And at the head of the board the great arm-chair 
of the farmer. 

Thus did Evangeline wait at her fatlier's door, 
as the sunset 

Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 
ambrosial meadows. 

Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 
fallen, 

And from the fields of her soul a fragrance ce- 
lestial ascended, — 

Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and forgive- 
ness, an patience ! 

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into the 
village. 



62 EVANGELINE. 

Cheering with looks and words the disconsolate 

hearts of the women, 
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering steps 

they departed, 
Urged by their household cares, and the weary 

feet of their children. 
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, 

glimmering vapors 
Veiled the light of his face, like the Prophet 

descending from Sinai. 
Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 

sounded. 



Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 
Evangeline lingered. 

All was silent within ; and in vain at the door 
and the windows 

Stood she, and listened and looked, until, over- 
come by emotion. 



EVANGELINE. 63 

" Gabriel ! " cried she aloud with tremulous 

voice ; but no answer 
Came from the graves of the dead, nor the 

gloomier grave of the hving. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 

house of her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board 

stood the supper untasted, 
Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 

with phantoms of terror. 
Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 

of her chamber. 
In the dead of the night she heard the whispering 

rain fall 
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore- 
tree by the window. 
Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of 

the echoing thunder 
Told her that God was in heaven, and governed 

the world he created ! 



64 EVANGELINE. 

Then she remembered the tale she had heard of 
the justice of heaven ; 

Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peace- 
fully slumbered till morning. 






Four dmes the sun had risen and set ; and now 
on the fifth day 

Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids 
of the farm-house. 

Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mourn- 
ful procession, 

Came from the neighbouring hamlets and farms 
the Acadian women. 

Driving in ponderous wains their household goods 
to the sea-shore, 

Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 
their dwelhngs, 
5 



ee 



EVANGELINE. 



Ere they were shut from sight by the winding 

road and the woodland. 
Close at their sides their children ran, and urged 

on the oxen, 
While in their little hands they clasped some 

fragments of playthings. 



Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried ; 

and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of the 

peasants. 
All day long between the shore and the ships did 

the boats ply ; 
All day long the wains came laboring down from 

the village. 
Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near to 

his setting. 
Echoing far o'er the fields came the roll of drums 

from the church-yard. 



( 



EVANGELINE. 67 

Thither the women and children thronged. On 

a sudden the church-doors 
Opened, and forth came the guard, and marching 

in gloomy procession 
Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, Aca- 
dian farmers. 
Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 

homes and their country. 
Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 

weary and way-worn, 
So with songs on their lips the Acadian peasants 

descended 
Down from the church to the shore, amid their 

wives and their daughters. 
Foremost the young men came ; and, raising 

together their voices, 
Sang they with tremulous lips a chant of the 

Catholic Missions : — 
'' Sacred heart of the Saviour ! O inexhaustible 

fountain ! 



68 



EVANGELINE. 



Fill our hearts this day with strength and submis- 
sion and patience ! " 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
women that stood by the way-side 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in the 
sunshine above them 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of 
spirits departed. 



Half-way down to the shore Evangeline waited 

in silence, 
Not overcome with grief, but strong in the hour 

of affliction, — 
Calmly and sadly waited, until the procession 

approached her, 
And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 

emotion. 
Tears then filled her eyes, and, eagerly running 

to meet him, 



EVANGELINE. " 69 

Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on his 

shoulder, and whispered, — 
" Gabriel ! be of good cheer ! for if we love 

one another. 
Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
chances may happen ! " 
Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly 

paused, for her father 
Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 

was his aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 

from his eye, and his footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the weary 

heart in his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his neck 

and embraced him. 
Speaking words of endearment where words of 

comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 

mournful procession. 



70 EVANGELINE. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 
stir of embarking. 

Busily plied the freighted boats ; and in the con- 
fusion 

Wives were torn from their husbands, and moth- 
ers, too late, saw their children 

Left on the land, extending their arms, with 
wildest entreaties. 

So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 
carried, 

While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 
with her father. 

Half the task was not done when the sun went 
down, and the twilight 

Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste 
the refluent ocean 

Fled away from the shore, and left the line of the 
sand-beach 

Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and 
the slippery sea-weed. 



EVANGELINE. 71 

Farther back in the midst of the household goods 
and the wagons, 

Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a 
battle, 

All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels 
near them. 

Lay encamped for the night the houseless Aca- 
dian farmers. 

Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bel- 
lowing ocean, 

Dragging adown the beach the rattling peb- 
bles, and leaving 

Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats 
of the sailors. 

Then, as the night descended, the herds re- 
turned from their pastures ; 

Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of 
milk from their udders ; 

Lowing they waited, and long, at the well-known 
bars of the farm-yard, — 



72 EVANGELINE. 

Waited and looked in vain for the voice and the 

hand of the milkmaid. 
Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church 

no Angelus sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed no 

lights from the windows. 



But on the shores meanwhile the evening fires 
had been kindled, 

Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands from 
wrecks in the tempest. 

Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful faces 
were gathered, 

Voices of women were heard, and of men, and 
the crying of children. 

Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to hearth 
in his parish, 

Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and bless- 
ing and cheering. 



EVANGELINE. 73 

Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's deso- 
late sea-shore. 

Thus he approached the place where Evangeline 
sat with her father, 

And in the flickering light beheld the face of the 
old man, 

Haggard and hollow and wan, and without either 
thought or emotion, 

E'en as the face of a clock from which the hands 
have been taken. 

Vainly Evangeline strove with words and caresses 
to cheer him. 

Vainly offered him food ; yet he moved not, he 
looked not, he spake not, 

But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the flick- 
ering fire-light. 

" Benedicite /" murmured the priest, in tones of 
compassion. 

More he fain would have said, but his heart was 
full, and his accents 



74 EVANGELINE. 

\ 

Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of a 

child on a threshold, 
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 

presence of sorrow. 
Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the head 

of the maiden. 
Raising his eyes, full of tears, to the silent stars 

that above them 
Moved on their way, unperturbed by the wrongs 

and sorrows of mortals. 
Then sat he down at her side, and they wept 

together in silence. 



Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 

autumn the blood-red 
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and 

o'er the horizon 
Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon 

mountain and meadow, 



EVANGELINE. 75 

Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling huge 

shadows together. 
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the roofs 

of the village, 
Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 

that lay in the roadstead. 
Columns of shining smoke upiy)se, and flashes of 

flame were 
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 

the quivering hands of a martyr. 
Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the burn- 
ing thatch, and, uplifting, 
Whirled them aloft through the air, at once from 

a hundred house-tops 
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 

intermingled. 



These things beheld in dismay the crowd on 
the shore and on shipboard. 



76 EVANGELINE. 

Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud in 

their anguish, 
" We shall behold no more our homes in the 

village of Grand-Pre ! " 
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in the 

farm-yards, 
Thinking the day» had dawned ; and anon the 

lowing of cattle 
Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 

dogs interrupted. 
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles the 

sleeping encampments 
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt 

the Nebraska, 
When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with 

the speed of the whirlwind, 
Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush to 

the river. 
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as 

the herds and the horses 



EVANGELINE. 77 

Broke through their folds and fences, and madly- 
rushed o'er the meadows. 



Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, 

the priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 

widened before them ; 
And as they turned at length to speak to their 

silent companion, 
Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 

abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul had 

departed. 
Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, and 

the maiden 
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in her 

terror. 
Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her head 

on his bosom. 



78 EVANGELINE. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, oblivious 

slumber ; 
And when she woke from the trance, she beheld 

a multitude near her. 
Faces of friends she beheld, that were mournfully 

gazing upon her, 
Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest 

compassion. 
Still the blaze of the burning village illumined the 

landscape. 
Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on the 

faces around her, 
And like the day of doom it seemed to her wa- 
vering senses. 
Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to the 

people, — 
" Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 

happier season 
Brings us again to our homes from the unknown 

land of our exile, 



EVA.NGELINE. 79 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in the 

church-yard." 
Such were the words of the priest. And there 

in haste by the sea-side, 
Having the glare of the burning village for funeral 

torches, 
But without bell or book, they buried the farmer 

of Grand-Pre. 
And as the voice of the priest repeated the service 

of sorrow, 
Lo I with a mournful sound, like the voice of a 

vast congregation, 
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its roar 

with the dirges. 
'T was the returning tide, that afar from the 

waste of the ocean, 
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving and 

hurrying landward. 
Then recommenced once more the stir and noise 

of embarking ; 



80 EVANGELINE. 

And with the ebb of that tide the ships sailed out 

of the harbour, 
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, and 

the village in ruins. 



PART THE SECOND. 



I. 



Many a weary year had passed since the burning 

of Grand-Pre, 
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels 

departed, 
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, into 

exile. 
Exile without an end, and without an example in 

story. 
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 

landed ; 
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when 

the wind from the northeast 



84 EVANGELINE. 

Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 

Banks of Newfoundland. 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered 

from city to city, 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry 

Southern savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands 

where the Father of Waters 
Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them 

down to the ocean. 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones 

of the mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes ; and many, 

despairing, heart-broken. 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer 

a friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone in 

the church-yards. 
Long among them was seen a maiden who waited 

and wandered, 



EVANGELINE. 85 

Lowly and meek in spirit, and patiently suffer- 
ing all things. 

Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her 
extended, 

Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, 
with its pathway 

Marked by the graves of those who had sorrowed 
and suffered before her. 

Passions long extinguished, and hopes long dead 
and abandoned, 

As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert is 
marked by 

Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that bleach 
in the sunshine. 

Something there was in her life incomplete, im- 
perfect, unfinished ; 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and 
sunshine. 

Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly 
descended 



86 EVANGELINE. 

Into the east again, from whence it late had 

arisen. 
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged by 

the fever within her. 
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and thirst 

of the spirit, 
She would commence again her endless search 

and endeavour ; 
Sometimes in church-yards strayed, and gazed on 

the crosses and tombstones. 
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that 

perhaps in its bosom 
He was already at rest, and she longed to slum- 
ber beside him. 
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate 

whisper, 
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon her 

forward. 
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen 

her beloved and known him. 



EVANGELINE. 87 

But it was long ago, in some far-off place or for- 
gotten. 

*' Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said they ; "O, yes ! 
we have seen him. 

He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both 
have gone to the prairies ; 

Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunters 
and trappers." 

** Gabriel Lajeunesse ! " said others ; " O, yes ! 
we have seen him. 

He is a Vbyageur in the lowlands of Lou- 
isiana." 

Then would they say, — '' Dear child ! why 
dream and wait for him longer ? 

Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel ? 
others 

Who have hearts as tender and true, and spirits as 
loyal ? 

Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, who 
has loved thee 



88 EVANGELINE. 

Many a tedious year ; come, give him thy hand 
and be happy ! 

Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Cath- 
erine's tresses." 

Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but sad- 
ly, — " I cannot ! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my 
hand, and not elsewhere. 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, and 
illumines the pathway. 

Many things are made clear, that else lie hidden 
in darkness." 

And thereupon the priest, her friend and father- 
confessor. 

Said, with a smile, — '' O daughter ! ihy God 
thus speaketh within thee ! 

Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was 
wasted ; 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, 
returning 



EVANGELINE. W 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them 

full of refreshment ; 
That which the fountain sends forth returns again 

to the fountain. 
Patience ; accomplish thy labor ; accomplish thy 

work of affection ! 
Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient en- 
durance is godhke. 
Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 

heart is made godlike, 
Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered 

more worthy of heaven ! " 
Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline 

labored and waited. 
Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 

the ocean. 
But with its sound there was mmgled a voice that 

whispered, " Despair not ! " 
Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 

cheerless discomfort. 



90 EVANGELINE. 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and thorns 
of existence. 

Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wanderer's 
footsteps ; — 

Not through each devious path, each change- 
ful year of existence ; 

But as a traveller follows a streamlet's course 
through the valley : 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the 
gleam of its water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at in- 
tervals only ; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through sylvan 
glooms that conceal it, 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its con- 
tinuous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it 
reaches an outlet. 



91 



II 



It was the month of May. Far down the Beau- 
tiful River, 

Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 
Wabash, 

Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 
Mississippi, 

Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by- 
Acadian boatmen. 

It was a band of exiles : a raft, as it were, from 
the shipwrecked 

Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating 
together. 



92 EVANGELINE. 

Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 

common misfortune ; 
Men and women and children, who, guided by 

hope or by hearsay. 
Sought for their kith and their kin among the 

few-acred farmers 
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 

Opelousas. 
With them Evangeline went, and her guide, the 

Father Felician. 
Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilderness 

sombre with forests. 
Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 

river ; 
Night after night, by their blazing fires, en- 
camped on its borders. 
Now through rushing chutes, among green islands, 

where plumelike 
Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 

swept with the current. 



EVANGELINE. 93 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where silvery- 
sand-bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the wimplmg waves 
of their margin. 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks of 
peHcans waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores 
of the river, 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuriant 
gardens. 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro-cabms 
and dove-cots. 

They were approaching the region where reigns 
perpetual summer. 

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves 
of orapge and citron, 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to 
the eastward. 

They, too, swerved from their course ; and, en- 
tering the Bayou of Plaquemine, 



94 EVANGELINE. 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devious 

vi^aters, 
Which, like a network of steel, extended in 

every direction. 
Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 

boughs of the cypress 
Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in mid 

air 
Waved like banners that hang on the walls of 

ancient cathedrals. 
Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, save 

by the herons 
Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees returning 

at sunset, 
Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with 

demoniac laughter. 
Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and 

gleamed on the water, 
Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar 

sustaining the arches, 



EVANGELINE. 95 

Down through whose broken vauhs it fell as 

through chinks in a ruin. 
Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 

things around them ; 
And o'er their spirits there came a feeling of 

wonder and sadness, — 
Strange forebodings of ill, unseen and tliat can- 
not be compassed. 
As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf of 

the prairies. 
Far in advance are closed the leaves of the 

shrinking mimosa. 
So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebodings 

of evil, 
Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of 

doom has attained it. 
But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a vision, 

that faintly 
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on 

through the moonlight. 



96 EVANGELINE. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed the 
shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy aisles had Gabriel wan- 
dered before her, 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him 
nearer and nearer. 



Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, 

rose one of the oarsmen. 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them per- 

adventure 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, 

blew a blast on his bugle. 
Wild through the dark colonnades and corridors 

leafy the blast rang. 
Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues 

to the forest. 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just 

stirred to the music. 



EVANGELINE. 97 

Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the 

distance, 
Over the watery floor, and beneath the rever- 
berant branches ; 
But not a voice replied ; no answer came from 

the darkness ; 
And when the echoes had ceased, like a sense 

of pain was the silence. 
Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 

through the midnight, 
Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian 

boat-songs. 
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian 

rivers. 
And through the night were heard the mysterious 

sounds of the desert, 
Far off, indistinct, as of wave or wind in the 

forest. 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the roar 

of the grim alligator. 



98 EVANGELINE. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from 
those shades ; and before them 

Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atcha- 
falaya. 

Water-lilies in myriads rocked on the slight undu- 
lations 

Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
beauty, the lotus 

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
boatmen. 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of mag- 
nolia blossoms. 

And with the heat of noon ; and numberless syl- 
van islands. 

Fragrant and thickly embowered with blossoming 
hedges of roses. 

Near to whose shores they glided along, invited to 
slumber. 

Soon by the fairest of these their weary oars were 
suspended. 



EVANGELINE. 99 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that grew 
by the margin, 

Safely their boat was moored ; and scattered 
about on the greensward. 

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary trav- 
ellers slumbered. 

Over them vast and high extended the cope of a 
cedar. 

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet-flower 
and the grape-vine 

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder 
of Jacob, 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascending, 
descending, 

Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted from 
blossom to blossom. 

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she slum- 
bered beneath it. 

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn of 
an opening heaven 



iOO EVANGELINE. 

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of 
regions celestial. 



Nearer and ever nearer, among the numberless 

islands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er 

the water. 
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of hunters 

and trappers. 
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of 

the bison and beaver. 
At the helm sat a youth, with countenance 

thoughtful and careworn. 
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his brow, 

and a sadness 
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was 

legibly written. 
Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, unhappy 

and restless. 



EVANGELINE. 101 

Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self and 
of sorrow. 

Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of 
the island, 

But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen 
of palmettos, 

So that they saw not the boat, where it lay con- 
cealed in the willows, 

And undisturbed by the dash of their oars, and 
unseen, were the sleepers ; 

Angel of God was there none to awaken the 
slumbering maiden. 

Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a 
cloud on the prairie. 

After the sound of their oars on the tholes had 
died in the distance, 

As from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, and 
the maiden 

Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, — " O Fa- 
ther Felician ! 



10^ EVANGELINE. 

Something says in my heart that near me Gabriel 

wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague super- 
stition ^ 
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth to 

my spirit ^ " 
Then, with a blush, she added, — " Alas for my 

credulous fancy ! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have no 

meaning." 
But made answer the reverend man, and he 

smiled as he answered, — 
*' Daughter, thy words are not idle ; nor are they 

to me without meaning. 
FeeHng is deep and still ; and the word that floats 

on the surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where the 

anchor is hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the 

world calls illusions. 



EVANGELINE. 103 

Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to 

the southward, 
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. 

Maur and St. Martin. 
There the long-wandering bride shall be given 

again to her bridegroom, 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock and 

his sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and forests 

of fruit-trees ; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the bluest 

of heavens 
Bending above, and resting its dome on the walls 

of the forest. 
They who dwell there have named it the Eden 

of Louisiana." 



And with these words of cheer they arose and 
continued their journey. 



104 EVANGELINE. 

Softly the evening came. The sun from the 

western horizon 
Like a magician extended his golden wand o'er 

the landscape ; 
Twinkling vapors arose ; and sky and water and 

forest 
Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted and 

mingled together. 
Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges 

of silver, 
Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 

motionless water. 
Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpressible 

sweetness. 
Touched by the magic spell, the sacred fountains 

of feeling 
Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 

waters around her. 
Then from a neighbouring thicket the mocking- 
bird, wildest of singers, 



EVANGELINE. 



105 



Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er 

the water, 
Shook from his little throat such floods of de- 
lirious music. 
That the whole air and the woods and the waves 

seemed silent to listen. 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then 

soaring to madness 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of 

frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low 

lamentation ; 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 

abroad in derision. 
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through 

the tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower 

on the branches. 
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 

throbbed with emotion, 



106 EVANGELINE. 

Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 
tlirough the green Opelousas, 

And through the amber air, above the crest of 
the woodland, 

Saw the column of smoke that arose from a neigh- 
bouring dwelling ; — 

Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant 
lowing of cattle. 



107 



III. 

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by 
oaks, from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mistle- 
toe flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden hatch- 
ets at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the herds- 
man. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 
blossoms, 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house itself 
was of timbers 



108 EVANGELINE. 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fitted 
together. 

Large and low was the roof; and on slender 
columns supported, 

Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and spa- 
cious veranda, 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, extend- 
ed around it. 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of 
the garden. 

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpetual 
symbol. 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless conten- 
tions of rivals. 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of 
shadow and sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house 
itself was in shadow. 

And from its chimney-top, ascending and slowly 
expanding 



EVANGELINE. 109 

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of smoke 

rose. 
In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, 

ran a pathway 
Through the great groves of oak to the skirts of 

the limitless prairie, 
Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly 

descending. 
Full in his track of light, like ships with shadowy 

canvas 
Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 

calm in the tropics. 
Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage of 

grape-vines. 



Just where the woodlands met the flowery surf 
of the prairie, 
Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle and 
stirrups. 



110 EVANGELINE. 

Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet 

of deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under 

the Spanish sombrero 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly look 

of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of kine, 

that were grazmg 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the va- 
pory freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself 

over the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, and 

expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, that 

resounded 
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still damp 

air of the evening. 
Suddenly out of the grass the long white horns 

of the cattle 



EVANGELINE. Ill 

Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse currents 

of ocean. 
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing 

rushed o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade in 

the distance. 
Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, 

through the gate of the garden 
Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 

advancing to meet him. 
Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in 

amazement, and forward 
Rushed with extended arms and exclamations of 

wonder ; 
When they beheld his face, they recognized 

Basil the Blacksmith. 
Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests to 

the garden. 
There in an arbour of roses with endless question 

and answer 



112 EVANGELINE. 

Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed their 

friendly embraces. 
Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting silent 

and thoughtful. 
Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not ; and now dark 

doubts and misgivings 
Stole o'er the maiden's heart ; and Basil, some- 
what embarrassed. 
Broke the silence and said, — "If you came by 

the Atchafalaya, 
How have you nowhere encountered my Gabriel's 

boat on the bayous ? " 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a 

shade passed. 
Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 

tremulous accent, — 
" Gone } is Gabriel gone ? " and, concealing her 

face on his shoulder. 
All her o'erbmdened heart gave way, and she 

wept and lamented. 



EVANGELINE. 113 

Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew 

blithe as he said it, — 
" Be of good cheer, my child ; it is only to-day 

he departed. 
Foolish boy ! he has left me alone with ray herds 

and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and troubled, 

his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet 

existence. 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 

ever. 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 

troubles, 
He at length had become so tedious to men and 

to maidens. 
Tedious even to me, that at length I bethought 

me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adayes to trade for mules with 

the Spaniards. 
8 



114 EVANGELINE. 

Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 

Ozark Mountains, 
Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trapping 

the beaver. 
Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the 

fugitive lover ; 
He is not far on his way, and the Fates and the 

streams are against him. 
Up and away to-morrow, and through the red 

dew of the morning 
We will follow him fast, and bring him back to 

his prison." 



Then glad voices were heard, and up from the 

banks of the river, 
Borne aloft on his comrades' arms, came Michael 

the fiddler. 
Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god 

on Olympus, 



EVANGELINE. 115 

Having no other care than dispensing music to 

mortals. 
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and his 

fiddle. 
"Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave 

Acadian minstrel ! " 
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession ; 

and straightway 
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, greet- 
ing the old man 
Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while 

Basil, enraptured, 
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions and 

gossips. 
Laughing loud and long, and embracing mothers 

and daughters. 
Much they marvelled to see the wealth of the 

ci-devant blacksmith, 
All his domains and his herds, and his patriarchal 

demeanour ; 



116 



EVANGELINE. 



Much they marvelled to hear his tales of the soil 

and the climate, 
And of the prairies, whose numberless herds were 

his who would take them ; 
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, would 

go* and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the 

airy veranda. 
Entered the hall of the house, where already the 

supper of Basil 
Waited his late return ; and they rested and 

feasted together. 



Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness 

descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the landscape 

with silver. 
Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad stars ; 

but within doors. 



EVANGELINE. 117 

Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends in 

the glimmering lamplight. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 

table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together in 

endless profusion. , 

Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 

Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 

smiled as they listened : — 
*' Welcome once more, my friends, who so long 

have been friendless and homeless, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better 

perchance than the old one ! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like 

the rivers ; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of the 

farmer. 
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the soil, 

as a keel through the water. 



118 EVANGELINE. 

All the year round the orange -groves ai'e in blos- 
som ; and grass grows 

More in a single night than a whole Canadian 
summer. 

Here, too, numberless herds run wild and un- 
claimed in the prairies ; 

Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, and 
forests of timber 

With a few blows of the axe are hewn and framed 
into houses. 

After your houses are built, and your fields are 
yellow with harvests, 

No King George of England shall drive you away 
from your homesteads, 

Burning your dwellings and barns, and stealuig 
your farms and your cattle." 

Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful cloud 
from his nostrils. 

And his huge, brawny hand came thundering 
down on the table. 



EVANGELINE. 119 

So that the guests all started ; and Father Feli- 

cian, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snufF half-way 

to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words were 

milder and gayer : — 
'-' Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware 

of the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian 

climate, 
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's neck 

in a nutshell ! " 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and 

footsteps approaching 
Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the 

breezy veranda. 
It was the neighbouring Creoles and small Aca- 
dian planters, 
Who had been sunmioned all to the house of 

Basil the Herdsman. 



1-90 EVANGELINE. 

Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades 
and neighbours : 

Friend clasped friend in his arms ; and they who 
before were as strangers, 

Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends 
to each other, 

Drawn by the gentle bond of a common country 
together. 

But in the neighbouring hall a strain of music, 
proceeding 

From the accordant strings of Michael's melo- 
dious fiddle. 

Broke up all further speech. Away, like chil- 
dren delighted. 

All things forgotten beside, they gave themselves 
to the maddening 

Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed 
to the music. 

Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 
fluttering garments. 



EVANGELINE. 



121 



Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, the 
priest and the herdsman 

Sat, conversing together of past and present and 
future ; 

While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 
within her 

Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst of 
the music 

Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irrepress- 
ible sadness 

Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole forth 
into the garden. 

Beautiful was the night. Behind the black wall 
of the forest. 

Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 
On the river 

Fell here and there through the branches a tremu- 
lous gleam of the moonlight, 

Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened 
and devious spirit. 



122 EVANGELINE. 

Nearer and round about her, the manifold flowers 
of the garden 

Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 
prayers and confessions 

Unto the night, as it went its way, hke a silent 
Carthusian. 

Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy with 
shadows and night-dews, 

Hung the heart of the maiden. The cahn and 
the magical moonlight 

Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable long- 
ings, 

As, through the garden gate, beneath the brown 
shade of the oak-trees. 

Passed she along the path to the edge of the 
measureless prairie. 

Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and 
fire-flies 

Gleaming and floating away in mingled and in- 
finite numbers. 



EVANGELINE. 123 

Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God in 

the heavens, 
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to 

marvel and worship. 
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the walls 

of that temple. 
As if a hand had appeared and written upon them, 

*' Upharsin." 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars 

and the fire-flies, 
Wandered alone, and she cried, — " O Gabriel ! 

O my beloved ! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot 

behold thee ? 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice does 

not reach me ? 
Ah ! how often thy feet have trod this path to 

the prairie ! 
Ah ! how often thine eyes have looked on the 

woodlands around me ! 



124 EVANGiELINE. 

Ah ! how often beneath this oak, returning from 
labor. 

Thou hast lain down to rest, and to dream of me 
in thy slumbers. 

When shall these eyes behold, these arms be 
folded about thee ? " 

Loud and sudden and near the note of a whip- 
poorwill sounded 

Like a flute in the woods ; and anon, through the 
neighbouring thickets, 

Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 
into silence. 

" Patience ! " whispered the oaks from orac- 
ular caverns of darkness ; 

And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh respond- 
ed, ** To-morrow ! " 



Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the 
flowers of the garden 



EVANGELINE. 125 

Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 

anointed his tresses 
With the delicious balm that they bore in their 

vases of crystal. 
'' Farewell ! " said the priest, as he stood at the 

shadowy threshold ; 
" See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from 

his fasting and famine. 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when the 

bridegroom was coming." 
" Farewell ! " answered the maiden, and, smil- 
ing, with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen 

already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, and 

sunshine, and gladness. 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was 

speeding before them. 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over 

the desert. 



126 EVANGELINE. 

Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day that 

succeeded, 
Found they trace of his course, in lake or forest 

or river, 
Nor, after many days, had they found him ; but 

vague and uncertain 
Rumors alone were their guides through a wild 

and desolate country ; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of 

Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned from 

the garrulous landlord, 
That on the day before, with horses and guides 

and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of the 

prairies. 



127 



IV. 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, 
where the mountains 

Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and 
luminous summits. 

Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where 
the gorge, like a gateway, 

Opens a passage rude to the wheels of the emi- 
grant's wagon, 

Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway 
and Owyhee. 

Eastward, with devious course, among the Wind- 
river Mountains, 



128 EVANGELINE. 

Through the Sweet- water Valley precipitate leaps 
the Nebraska ; 

And to the south, from Fontaine-qui-bout and the 
Spanish sierras, 

Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by the 
wind of the desert, 

Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, de- 
scend to the ocean, 

Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and 
solemn vibrations. 

Spreading between these streams are the won- 
drous, beautiful prairies. 

Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow and 
sunshine, 

Bright with luxuriant clusters of roses and purple 
amorphas. 

Over them wander the buffalo herds, and the elk 
and the roebuck ; 

Over them wander the wolves, and herds of rider- 
less horses ; 



EVANGELINE. 129 

Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 

weary with travel ; 
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ish- 

mael's children, 
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their 

terrible war-trails 
Circles and sails aloft, on pinions majestic, the 

vulture. 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaugh- 
tered in battle. 
By invisible stairs ascending and scahng the 

heavens. 
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 

these savage marauders ; 
Here and there rise groves from the margins of 

swift-running rivers ; 
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite monk 

of the desert, 

Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots 

by the brook-side, 
9 



130 EVANGELINE. 

And over all is the sky, the clear and crystalline 

heaven, 
Like the protectmg hand of God inverted above 

them. 



Into this wonderful land, at the base of the 

Ozark Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and trap- 
pers behind him. 
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the 

maiden and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each day 

to o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 

smoke of his camp-fire 
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain; 

but at nightfall. 
When they had reached the place, they found 

only embers and ashes. 



EVANGELINE. 131 

And, though their hearts were sad at times and 

their bodies were weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata 

Morgana 
Showed them her lakes of hght, that retreated and 

vanished before them. 



Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 

silently entered 
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose 

features 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as 

great as her sorrow. 
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to 

her people, 
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel 

Camanches, 
Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des- 

Bois, had been murdered. 



132 EVANGELINE. 

Touched were their hearts at her story, and 

warmest and friendliest welcome 
Gave they, with words of cheer, and she sat and 

feasted among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on 

the embers. 
But when their meal was done, and Basil and all 

his companions. 
Worn with the long day's march and the chase 

of the deer and the bison. 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 

where the quivering fire-light 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their forms 

wrapped up in their blankets. 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat 

and repeated 
Slowly, with soft, low voice, and the charm of 

her Indian accent, 
All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 

pains, and reverses. 



EVANGELINE. 133 

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to know 
that another 

Hapless heart like her own had loved and had 
been disappointed. 

Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and 
woman's compassion, 

Y^et in her sorrow pleased that one who had 
suffered was near her, 

She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
ters. 

Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when 
she had ended 

Still was mute ; but at length, as if a mysterious 
horror 

Passed tln*ough her brain, she spake, and re- 
peated the tale of the Mowis ; 

Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 
wedded a maiden. 

But, when the morning came, arose and passed 
from the wigwam, 



134 EVANGELINE. 

Fading and melting away and dissolving into the 

sunshine, 
Till she beheld him no more, though she followed 

far into the forest. 
Then, m those sweet, low tones, that seemed 

like a weird incantation. 
Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was 

wooed by a phantom, 
That, through the pines o'er her father's lodge, 

in "the hush of the twilight. 
Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered 

love to the maiden. 
Till she followed his green and waving plume 

through the forest, 
And never more returned, nor was seen again by 

her people. 
Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evan- 
geline hstened 
To the soft flow of her magical words, till the 

region around her 



EVANGELINE. 135 

Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swarthy- 
guest the enchantress. 
Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains the 

moon rose, 
Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 

splendor 
Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing and 

filling the woodland. 
With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, and 

the branches 
Swayed and sighed overhead in scarcely audible 

whispers. 
Filled with the thoughts of love was Evangeline's 

heart, but a secret, 
Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite 

terror. 
As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the nest 

of the swallow. 
It was no earthly fear. A breath from the region 

of spirits 



136 EVANGELINE. 

Seemed to float in the air of night ; and she felt 
for a moment 

That, hke the Indian maid, she, too, was pur- 
suing a phantom. 

And with this thought she slept, and the fear and 
the phantom had vanished. 



Early upon the morrow the march was re- 
sumed ; and the Shawnee 

Said, as they journeyed along, — " On the west- 
ern slope of these mountains 

Dwells in his little village the Black Robe chief 
of the Mission. 

Much he teaches the people, and tells them of 
Mafy and Jesus ; 

Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep with 
pain, as they hear him." 

Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, Evan- 
geline answered, — 



EVANGELINE. 137 

'' Let US go to the Mission, for there good tidings 

await us ! " 
Thither they turned their steeds ; and behind a 

spur of the mountains, 
Just as the sun went down, they heard a murmur 

of voices, 
And in a meadow green and broad, by the bank 

of a river, 
Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of the 

Jesuit Mission. 
Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst of 

the village. 
Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. 

A crucifix fastened 
High on the trunk of the tree, and overshadowed 

by grape-vines, 
Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 

kneeling beneath it. 
This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through the 

intricate arches 



138 EVANGELINE. 

Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
pers, 

Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and sighs 
of the branches. 

Silent, with heads uncovered, the travellers, near- 
er approaching, 

Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the 
evening devotions. 

But when the service was done, and the benedic- 
tion had fallen 

Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed from 
the hands of the sower. 

Slowly the reverend man advanced to the stran- 
gers, and bade them 

Welcome ; and when they replied, he smiled with 
benignant expression. 

Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother- 
tongue in the forest. 

And with words of b'ndness conducted them into 
his wigwam. 



EVANGELINE. 139 

There upon mats and skins they reposed, and on 
cakes of the maize-ear 

Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the water- 
gourd of the teacher. 

Soon was their story told ; and the priest with 
solemnity answered : — 

" Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, 
seated 

On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 
reposes, 

Told me this same sad tale ; then arose and con- 
tinued his journey ! " 

Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake 
with an accent of kindness ; 

But on Evangeline's heart fell his words as in 
winter the snow-flakes 

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds 
have departed. 

'^ Far to the north he has gone," continued the 
priest ; " but in autunm. 



140 EVANGELINE. 

When the chase is done, will return again to the 

Mission." 
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek 

and submissive, — 
"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad 

and afflicted." 
So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and betimes 

on the morrow, 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian 

guides and companions, 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline stayed 

at the Mission. 



Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded 

each other, — 
Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of 

maize that were springing 
Green from the ground when a stranger she came, 

now waving above her, 



EVANGELINE. 141 

Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves interlacing, 

and forming 
Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries pil- 
laged by squirrels. 
Then in the golden weather the maize was husked, 

and the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betokened 

a lover, 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a thief 

in the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought 

not her lover. 
"Patience!" the priest would say; "have 

faith, and thy prayer will be answered ! 
Look at this delicate plant that lifts its head from 

the meadow. 
See how its leaves all point to the north, as true 

as the magnet ; 
It is the compass-flower, that the finger of God 

has suspended 



142 EVANGELINE. 

Here on its fragile stalk, to direct the traveller's 

journey 
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of 

the desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms 

of passion, 
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and fuller 

of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and their 

odor is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 

hereafter 
Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wet 

with the dews of nepenthe." 



So came the autumn, and passed, and the 
winter, — yet Gabriel came not ; 
Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes of 
the robin and blue-bird 



EVANGELINE. 143 

Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet 

Gabriel came not. 
But on the breath of the summer winds a rumor 

was wafted 
Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of 

blossom. 
Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michigan 

forests, 
Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the Sagi- 
naw river. 
And, with returning guides, that sought the lakes 

of St. Lawrence, 
Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from the 

Mission. 
When over weary ways, by long and perilous ^ 

marches. 
She had attained at length the depths of the 

Michigan forests. 
Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fallen 

to ruin! 



144 EVANGELINE. 

Thus did the long sad years ghde on, and in 

seasons and places 
Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 

maiden ; — 
Now in the tents of grace of the meek Moravian 

Missions, 
Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields of 

the army, 
Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and populous 

cities. 
Like a phantom she came, and passed away un- 

remembered. 
Fair was she and young, when in hope began the 

long journey ; 
Faded was she and old, when in disappointment 

it ended. 
Each succeeding year stole something away from 

her beauty. 
Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the gloom 

and the shadow. 



EVANGELINE. 145 

Then there appeared and spread faint streaks of 

gray o'er her forehead, 
Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her earthly 

horizon. 
As in the eastern sky the first faint streaks of the 

morning. 



10 



)47 



V. 



In that delightful land which is washed by the 

Delaware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn the 

apostle, 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 

city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the 

emblem of beauty, 
And the streets still reecho the names of the 

trees of the forest, 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose 

haunts they molested. 



148 EVANGELINE. 

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline 

landed, an exile, 
Finding among the children of Penn a home and 

a country. 
There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when he 

departed, 
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred 

descendants. 
Something at least there was in the friendly 

streets of the city. 
Something that spake to her heart, and made her 

no longer a stranger ; 
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and 

Thou of the Quakers, 
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian coun- 
try, 
Where all men were equal, and all were brothers 

and sisters. 
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 

endeavour. 



EVANGELINE. 149 

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, un- 
complaining, 
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her 

thoughts and her footsteps. 
As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of the 

morning 
Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape 

below us, 
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and 

hamlets. 
So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the 

world far below her, 
Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; and 

the pathway 
Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and 

fair in the distance. 
Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was 

his image. 
Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last 

she beheld him. 



150 EVANGELINE. 

Only more beautiful made by his deathlike si- 
lence and absence. 
Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it 

was not. 
Over him years had no power ; he was not 

changed, but transfigured ; 
He had become to her heart as one who is dead, 

and not absent ; 
Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to 

others. 
This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 

taught her. 
So was her love diffused, but, like to some 

odorous spices, 
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air 

with aroma. 
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to 

follow 
Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of 

her Saviour. 



EVANGELINE. 151 

Thus many years she hved as a Sister of Mercy ; 

frequenting 
Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes 

of the city, 
Where distress and want concealed themselves 

from the sunlight, 
Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 

neglected. 
Night after night, when the world was asleep, as 

the watchman repeated 
Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well 

in the city, 
High at some lonely window he saw the light of 

her taper. 
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 

through the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 

fruits for the market, 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home 

from its watchings. 



152 EVANGELINE. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on 

the city, 
Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by 

flocks of wild pigeons, 
Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in 

their craws but an acorn. 
And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month 

of September, 
Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a 

lake in the meadow. 
So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural 

margin, 
Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of 

existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 

charm, the oppressor ; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his 

anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends 

nor attendants, 



EVANGELINE. 153 

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the 

homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 

meadows and woodlands ; — 
Now the city surrounds it ; but still, with its 

gateway and wicket 
Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls 

seem to echo 
Softly the words of the Lord : — " The poor ye 

always have with you." 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister 

of Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to 

behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead 

with splendor. 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints 

and apostles. 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a 

distance. 



154 EVANGELINE. 

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city 

celestial, 
Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits 

would enter. 



Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, 

deserted and silent. 
Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of 

the almshouse. 
Sweet on the summer air was the odor of Bowers 

in the garden ; 
And she paused on her way to gather the fairest 

among them. 
That the dying once more might rejoice in their 

fragrance and beauty. 
Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corridors, 

cooled by the east wind. 
Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes from 

the belfry of Christ Church, 



EVANGELINE. 155 

While, intermingled with these, across the mead- 
ows were wafted 

Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the Swedes 
in their church at Wicaco. 

Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the 
hour on her spirit ; 

Something within her said, — " At length thy 
trials are ended " ; 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the 
chambers of sickness. 

Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 
attendants, 

Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching brow, 
and in silence 

Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and con- 
cealing their faces, 

Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of 
snow by the road-side. 

Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 
entered. 



156 EVANGELINE. 

Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 
passed, for her presence 

Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on the 
walls of a prison. 

And, as she looked around, she saw how Death, 
the consoler, 

Laying his hand upon many a heart, had healed 
it for ever. 

Many familiar forms had disappeared in the night- 
time ; 

Vacant their places were, or filled already by 
strangers. 



Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling 
of wonder. 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, 
while a shudder 

Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the flow- 
erets dropped from her fingers, 



EVANGELINE. 157 

And from her eyes and cheeks the light and 

bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 

terrible anguish, 
That the dying heard it, and started up from their 

pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the form 

of an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 

shaded his temples ; 
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face for 

a moment 
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 

earlier manhood ; 
So are wont to be changed the faces of those 

who are dying. 
Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush of 

the fever, 
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had 

besprinkled its portals. 



158 EVANGELINE. 

That the Angel of Death might see the sigo, 

and pass over. 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his spirit 

exhausted 
Seemed to be sinking down through infinite 

depths in the darkness, 
Darloiess of slumber and death, for ever sinking 

and sinking. 
Then through those realms of shade, in multiplied 

reverberations. 
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the hush 

that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender and 

saint-like, 
" Gabriel ! O my beloved ! " and died away 

into silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the 

home of his childhood ; 
Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers 

among them, 



EVANGELINE. 159 

Village, and mountain, and woodlands ; and, 

walking under their shadow, 
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose in 

his vision. 
Tears came into his eyes ; and as slowly he 

hfted his eyelids. 
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline knelt 

by his bedside. 
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 

accents unuttered 
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed what 

his tongue would have spoken. 
Vainly he strove to rise ; and Evangeline, kneel- 
ing beside him, 
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 

bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 

sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind 

at a casement. 



160 EVANGELINE. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, 

and the sorrow, 
All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatisfied 

longing, 
All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish of 

patience ! 
And, as she pressed once more the lifeless head 

to her bosom. 
Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 

'' Father, I thank thee ! " 



161 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away 

from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the lovers 

are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 

church-yard, 
In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and 

unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing 

beside them, ^ 

Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs are 

at rest and for ever, 
11 



162 EVANGELINE. 

Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no 
longer are busy, 

Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 
ceased from their labors, 

Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have com- 
pleted their journey ! 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but under the 

shade of its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and 

language. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 

Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers 

from exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in its 

bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom are 

still busy ; 



EVANGELINE. 163 

Maidens still wear their Norman caps and tiieir 

kirtles of homespun, 
And by the evening fire repeat EvangeHne's 

story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 

neighbouring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers the 

wail of the forest. 



THE END. 



MAY 



